Tag Archives: spiritual examination

Holy Week Series, Lent, Series

ALTAR AUDIT, Part 15: The Altar of Control

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Read Mark 12:13–17

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“If we allow him to go on like this, soon everyone will believe in him. Then the Roman army will come and destroy both our Temple and our nation.” (John 11:48 NLT)

Altars reveal what we worship. Some are obvious—raised platforms of stone and flame. Others are quieter, constructed in systems, reputations, loyalties, and assumptions. Lent is a season of holy examination. It calls us to look closely at what we have built, what we defend, and what we trust. In this series, we conduct an audit—not of budgets or buildings, but of allegiances. Lent strips away every false altar until only Christ remains.

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Altar of Control” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 15: The Altar of Control. It begins like so many conversations do—with a question that seems reasonable enough on the surface. There is no raised voice, no visible confrontation, just a moment offered in public, shaped carefully, placed precisely where it will be heard.

But something is off.

The tone is measured. The setting is controlled. The words are familiar. And yet beneath it all, there is a sense that the answer matters less than what the answer will produce.

Jesus is standing in that space when the question comes: “Is it right to pay taxes to Caesar or not?”

It sounds simple. It is anything but.

Say yes, and you are aligned with empire. Say no, and you are marked as a threat to it. Either way, the outcome has already been calculated. The question is not seeking truth. It is seeking control.

This is where the altar reveals itself.

The altar of control is built when truth is no longer the goal—only outcome.

The brilliance of the trap is how normal it sounds. It does not announce itself as manipulation. It presents as discernment. It uses language that feels faithful, responsible, even necessary. But underneath, the aim is not understanding—it is positioning, exposure, and leverage.

Not every question is asked in good faith.

And Jesus refuses to answer on those terms.

“Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and give to God what belongs to God.”

This is not an endorsement of empire. It is not a command to compliance. It is a refusal to be trapped inside a false framework. The question assumes divided loyalties that can be neatly sorted and controlled. Jesus exposes the assumption itself.

You cannot reduce faithfulness to a category that can be managed. You cannot contain God within the boundaries of political convenience. You cannot force truth into a system designed to protect itself.

In fact, here’s a Biblical interpretive hack: Jesus returns question with question—“Whose image is on this?” Then, “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.” No one could deny the words, but the weight underneath them was equally undeniable. What is Caesar’s, exactly? Not much in the grand scheme of things. What is God’s? Everything—including what Caesar claims.

And just like that, the trap collapses.

But the instinct behind it does not.

Because the altar of control is not confined to one group, one system, or one moment. It appears anywhere truth becomes secondary to outcome, anywhere questions are shaped not to learn, but to corner.

We know this instinct.

Where we ask questions to trap, not learn.
Where we debate to win, not discern.
Where we use Scripture to control, not reveal.

It shows up in religious spaces. It shows up in political spaces. It shows up in conversations where the goal is no longer understanding, but victory—where the outcome matters more than the truth itself.

And often, it is justified.

In John’s Gospel, the reasoning is made explicit: better to control the situation than to risk losing everything. Better to contain the disruption than to let it spread. Control is framed as wisdom. Preservation is framed as necessity.

That is how the altar is built.

Not through open rebellion, but through careful justification. Not through obvious corruption, but through quiet calculation. Not through abandoning faith, but through reshaping it into something manageable.

And Jesus will not participate in that.

Jesus does not play the game. Jesus does not accept the premise. Jesus does not allow truth to be reduced to something that can be leveraged for advantage.

Instead, Jesus reveals something deeper: that what belongs to God cannot be negotiated, controlled, or contained by the systems we build.

Which brings the question back to us.

Are we seeking truth…or control?

Because the difference is not always visible at first. It often sounds the same. It often feels the same. It often even uses the same words.

But one leads to surrender.
The other leads to power.

And only one of those leads to God.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The altar of control is built wherever truth is shaped to secure outcomes instead of reveal God.

PRAYER
God, expose the places where I seek control more than truth. Where I have shaped questions to protect my own outcomes, bring honesty. Where I have used your word to manage rather than listen, bring humility. Teach me to seek what is true, even when it unsettles what I would rather keep. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional, Holy Week Series, Lent, Series

ALTAR AUDIT, Part 14: The Altar of Profit

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Read Mark 11:15–19

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“I will bring them to my holy mountain of Jerusalem and will fill them with joy in my house of prayer. I will accept their burnt offerings and sacrifices, because my Temple will be called a house of prayer for all nations.” (Isaiah 56:7 NLT)

Altars reveal what we worship. Some are obvious—raised platforms of stone and flame. Others are quieter, constructed in systems, reputations, loyalties, and assumptions. Lent is a season of holy examination. It calls us to look closely at what we have built, what we defend, and what we trust. In this series, we conduct an audit—not of budgets or buildings, but of allegiances. Lent strips away every false altar until only Christ remains.

Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Altar of Profit” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 14: The Altar of Profit.The noise of Palm Sunday has not quite faded yet. The crowds have thinned, but the energy lingers—the sense that something important has begun, that something is about to happen. Jesus enters the Temple in that space between celebration and outcome, where expectation still hangs in the air.

And then everything shifts.

Tables are overturned, coins scatter, and animals are driven out. The disruption is physical, violent, threatening, and immediate—not symbolic or abstract. In a crowded Temple under watchful authority, this was not a safe act. By ordinary standards, it would look foolish. Foolish by worldly standards…faithful by God’s.

It is easy to misread this moment as anger at commerce itself, but that misses the point. The Temple required money. Pilgrims needed currency exchange, and sacrifices required animals. This system had long existed and was necessary for participation in worship. Jesus and the disciples would have navigated that reality.

So this is not outrage at the presence of money. This is judgment on what the system had become.

“My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations… but you have made it a den of robbers.” A den of robbers is not where robbery happens; it is where robbers retreat. It is where what has been taken is protected, where exploitation is shielded from consequence. It is a place that feels safe—not for the vulnerable, but for those who benefit from the system as it stands.

That is the problem.

The Temple still functioned. Worship still happened. People still gathered. Nothing on the surface suggested failure. But underneath, something had shifted. A system that once served access to God had become a system that shielded injustice. It had become embedded, normalized, and—most dangerously—protected.

Because it worked.

It worked for those who benefited. It worked for those in power. It worked well enough that no one had to ask whether it was still faithful.

And that is what Jesus refuses.

Jesus does not disrupt the system because it exists. Jesus disrupts it because it has become untouchable, because what once served God had begun to serve itself, and because what should have opened the way had begun to control it.

This is not a gentle correction. It is a decisive refusal.

Not here. Not like this. Not in the name of God.

This is where the altar reveals itself.

The altar of profit is not built when money is present. It is built when systems that exploit are allowed to stand because they are useful, familiar, or beneficial—and are protected because they work for the ones in power. It is built when access is shaped by what someone can give, when belonging is quietly filtered, and when some move freely while others encounter barriers that were never meant to exist.

And most often, it goes unchallenged.

Because it works.

We are not distant from this. We inherit systems, participate in them, and benefit from them in ways we may not always recognize. Over time, what is familiar becomes unquestioned, and what is unquestioned becomes defended—not because we intend harm, but because disruption feels costly.

Because overturning tables always does.

But the gospel does not preserve what is comfortable if it is no longer faithful. Jesus does not protect systems simply because they are established. Jesus walks into the center of what we assume is holy and reveals what it has become, not only with words, but with action.

Which leaves us with a question that cannot be avoided:

What do we defend because it works…

and what might Christ overturn if Christ walked into it?

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
The altar of profit stands wherever exploitation is protected because it benefits those in power.

PRAYER
God, give me the clarity to see what I have accepted without question. Where I have benefited from what is not faithful, bring truth to light. Where I have defended what should be examined, give me courage to let it go. Lead me into a faith that reflects your justice, not my comfort. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional, Series

ALTAR AUDIT, Part 8: The Altar of Approval

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Read Galatians 1:1-10

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Fear of people is a dangerous trap, but trusting the Lord means safety.” (Proverbs 29:25 NLT)

Altars reveal what we worship. Some are obvious—raised platforms of stone and flame. Others are quieter, constructed in systems, reputations, loyalties, and assumptions. Lent is a season of holy examination. It calls us to look closely at what we have built, what we defend, and what we trust. In this series, we conduct an audit—not of budgets or buildings, but of allegiances. Lent strips away every false altar until only Christ remains.

Part 8: The Altar of Approval. Approval is one of the quietest altars we build.

It rarely looks like idolatry. It looks like professionalism. It looks like respectability. It looks like wisdom, diplomacy, or knowing how to read a room. But beneath all of that can sit a quieter question: Who are we really trying to please?

Paul names the tension directly in Galatians. “Am I now seeking human approval, or God’s?” It is not a rhetorical flourish. It is a diagnostic question. Because the moment approval becomes the measure of faithfulness, the gospel itself begins to bend.

The Church has never been immune to this. Congregations want stability. Leaders want credibility. Communities want reassurance that the people guiding them will not embarrass them or disrupt the fragile peace that holds institutions together. None of that is inherently wrong. But when approval becomes the altar, faithfulness becomes the sacrifice.

The danger is subtle. No one wakes up one morning and decides to worship approval. Instead, it grows slowly through a thousand small calculations. A leader softens a truth because it might upset someone. A congregation rewards the voices that affirm what it already believes. A system quietly teaches that survival depends not on conviction, but on acceptability.

Over time, approval begins to shape identity.

Years ago, when I was serving as a youth pastor, I learned something about this the hard way. I had written and recorded a song and paired it with a dark, gothic-style video—creative work that reflected the artistic voice I had carried with me my entire life as a poet, musician, and artist. At some point, that video found its way into the hands of church leadership after someone burned it onto a CD and mailed it anonymously.

I never learned who sent it. In the end, it did not matter.

What mattered was the note written across the top of the disc:

“Youth Pastor Todd Lattig serving his lord Satan.”

Moments like that clarify something quickly. When approval is the altar, anything unfamiliar becomes a threat. Anything that does not fit the brand must be corrected, contained, or quietly removed.

But Paul’s words refuse that logic.

“If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

The apostle is not celebrating antagonism or encouraging leaders to provoke conflict. Faithfulness is not measured by how many people we offend. But Paul is naming something deeper: the gospel cannot survive if approval becomes its guiding compass.

Because the gospel itself is disruptive.

It proclaims grace where systems prefer merit. It lifts the overlooked where hierarchies prefer order. It exposes idols we have grown comfortable with. And when that happens, approval often evaporates quickly.

This is where Proverbs offers its quiet warning: “Fear of people is a dangerous trap.”

Fear is the hidden engine behind the altar of approval. Fear of rejection. Fear of losing influence. Fear of disappointing those who hold power in our lives or communities. And fear has a remarkable ability to reshape conviction into compliance.

But the gospel begins somewhere else entirely.

It begins with belovedness.

Before reputation, before usefulness, before success or failure, the gospel announces that we belong to God. Not because we performed well enough to earn approval, but because grace has already claimed us. Belovedness is not branding. It cannot be curated, managed, or polished into something marketable.

It is given.

And that changes everything.

When identity rests in belovedness rather than approval, we are finally free to speak truthfully, lead faithfully, and love courageously—even when doing so costs us the approval we once believed we needed.

That freedom does not make life easier. But it does make faithfulness possible.

Because the question Paul asks still echoes through every generation of the Church:

Who are we really trying to please?

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
When approval becomes the altar, faithfulness becomes the sacrifice.

PRAYER
Holy One, free us from the quiet fear that binds our hearts to the approval of others. Teach us to rest in the belovedness you have already given. When truth is costly and courage feels uncertain, steady us in your grace so that our lives seek faithfulness more than applause. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).